“Is that coffee?”
With a chuckle, West nods. “Help yourself. It’s not instant, though. Hope you like it strong.”
“I used to live on quad-shot Americanos,” she says, her lips quirking into a smile. She hums a little as she takes a sip. “Oh, God. This is amazing. Wyatt, I’m sorry. Your coffee doesn’t hold a candle to this.”
I roll my eyes. “West is a coffee snob.”
“Watch your language. Or Hope and I will drink the rest and you’ll be left with nothing.” He winks, and Hope clutches the thermos to her chest. “Plus, I seem to remember you were too the last time you lived in Seattle.”
“Maybe.” I shrug, aggravating my shoulder. I’m about to turn my focus out the window when Hope passes me the insulated container.
“I’ll share,” she says. “I’m not used to the caffeine hit anymore. Too much and I’ll start vibrating.”
“Not used to—?” West frowns. “You gave up coffee?”
With that single question, Hope’s entire demeanor changes. She shrinks against me, dropping her gaze to the floor and clenching her jaw so hard, I can hear her teeth grind together.
“West, don’t,” I warn.
“It’s okay. He’s going to find out the whole story eventually.” She sighs, but still refuses to look anywhere but the floor mat. “Simon didn’t drink coffee. Or anything with caffeine. No meat, no dairy. No junk food. I haven’t had a candy bar or soda or a hamburger in more than three years.”
“Holy shit. Not even when you went out?” West asks.
Fuck me. Why didn’t I tell West what she’d been through earlier? The pain etched on her face shatters my heart into a million pieces, and when she sniffles and swipes at her nose, it’s like all the tiny fragments catch fire.
“He never let me go out. I didn’t—I don’t—have a phone or clothes or money. I left with nothing…”
“Shhh, darlin’. It’s all right.” Holding her close, I glare at West over the top of her head. “That asshole doesn’t get to control any part of your life ever again. No one’s gonna tell you what to eat, what to wear, or what to say. Not while I’m around.”
From the driver’s seat, West clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Hope. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You didn’t know,” she says, her voice flat. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” Running a hand through his hair, the man blows out a breath. “How much did Wyatt tell you about me? About the group I work with?”
Hope sits up a little straighter, her gaze fixed out the side window. “Just that you were all badasses.”
He laughs, checks the mirrors, and flips down the visor as we round a bend and sunlight glares through the windshield. “Well, he got that right. But a lot’s changed since Wyatt last set foot in the city—any city.”
“Fuck. Like what?” I ask.
“Everything? Ryker and Wren are married now. Though I think you knew that. Graham—he came to Hidden Agenda a couple of years ago—hooked up with his guy, Quinton, and we hired two more folks. Raelynn’s been on a handful of ops already, and Caleb just started training.”
“Is that all?” As relieved as I am that West, Inara, and Ryker have help, I don’t know Graham, Quinton, Raelynn, or Caleb. How the fuck am I supposed to trust them?
“Shit. No. Ripper.”
The coffee threatens to come out my nose. “Ripper? As in Sergeant Richards? He’s dead.”
West glances over at me, a haunted look in his eyes. “Not anymore.”
Ninety minutes later, the coffee’s gone, and the Seattle city limits sign comes into view.
“Let me get this straight,” I say. “The jackhole who tortured Ripper for six fucking years just happened to kidnap the long lost love of Dax’s business partner?”
“Yup.” West shakes his head. “Pretty damn stupid of him. But he’s dead now.”
“You know this shit only happens in books, right?”
